


The Kings and the Divorce

by jaydee09



Series: Two Kings [13]
Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst and Humor, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 10:36:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2425589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaydee09/pseuds/jaydee09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I have written a few more stories for my Two Kings series.  This first one deals with the divorce proceedings casually referred to in the last episode, The Kings and the Wedding.  How did our two passionate lovers get to this point?  Can their marriage be saved?  Usually, it's the pragmatic dwarf woman, Brangwyn, who comes to the rescue of her friends, Thorin and Thranduil, but this time she finds herself involved in her own set of divorce proceedings.  Someone give them all a slap!</p>
<p>This is my 13th story in my Thorin/Thranduil romance.  The first one in the series is King of the Antlered Throne.</p>
<p>The Kings and the Divorce is a COMPLETE story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Kings and the Divorce

**Author's Note:**

> This is the 13th story about the love affair between Thorin and Thranduil in the Two Kings series. I nearly finished after my last one, The Kings and the Wedding, and even wrote a postscript. But, I've come up with some new ideas and some new stories. I won't be breaking these down into chapters but will give you the complete story each week. Hope you enjoy them. This one is about misunderstandings and jealousy as per usual which culminate in demands for a divorce: I mentioned this event in that postscript of mine at the end of the last story. If they didn't fight, it wouldn't be so much fun, LOL!

The Kings and the Divorce

 

Pt I

 

A Divorce, Please, Balin!

 

The door of Thorin’s apartment in Erebor crashed open and Thorin swept out in a fury and stomped down the long corridor.  As he disappeared from view, an equally furious Thranduil appeared on the threshold, wrapped in a sheet.  Disdaining any pursuit, the elven king chose to scream down the corridor after him: “And if you think that you will be welcome back in my bed after _that_ , then you’ve got another think coming!”  A startled servant, carefully carrying a breakfast tray, was nearly bowled over by Thorin and then almost dropped his burden as Thranduil slammed the door in his face.

 

Kings!  Who’d have them?  Well, someone might be brave enough to knock on the door with breakfast, but it wasn’t going to be him.  And the servant sighed and prepared to carry his tray on its long journey back down to the kitchens.

 

In the blackest of humours, Thorin ploughed on, down corridor after corridor, his eyes fixed on the ground, until he came to Balin’s door.  He gave it one vicious thump and then entered his old friend’s apartment without even a by-your-leave.

 

Balin was sitting in his nightshirt, up to a table, sipping his morning cup of tea.  And his only response to the crash of Thorin’s entrance was the tiniest of sighs.  “Can I help you, laddie?” he asked politely. 

 

“You certainly can,” snarled the king, throwing himself down in a seat opposite the kindly old councillor.  “You can sort out a divorce for me!”

 

The demand was totally unexpected and the normally unruffled advisor stuttered stupidly: “A divorce?  You mean, from Thranduil?”

 

“Well, I’m not married to anyone else,” snapped the dwarf in vicious tones.  “More’s the pity!”

 

“But – but – you’ve only been married a year!”

 

“Yes, a year too long!” exclaimed Thorin.  “Long enough to realise that, when I married him, I made the biggest mistake of my life!”

 

At that precise moment, the door was flung open again, and a dishevelled Brangwyn marched into the room.  She was dressed only in a long, white nightgown, her hair was unbrushed, her cheeks were flushed and she was in a towering rage.  Her two friends blinked: they had never seen Brangwyn in such a state before.  She strode up to Balin and brought her fist down with terrific force on the table in front of him.  “I want a divorce from that- that - _worm_!” she yelled. 

 

“Snap,” said Thorin from behind her.  She spun on her heel, a startled expression on her face.

 

“What are you doing here?” she asked rudely.

 

“Looking for a divorce,” replied the king.

 

Balin raised his eyes in exasperation to Mahal and muttered: “Must be something in the water.”  And Brangwyn collapsed in an exhausted heap on the chair next to Thorin.  “I just can’t take any more of his jealousy,” she said by way of explanation.

 

“Same here,” replied Thorin.  And he thought back to the experiences of the previous day.

 

He and Thranduil had wandered over to Dale for a look in the markets and to see how the rebuilding programme was progressing.  They were just on their way back to Erebor again when Thorin had hailed a handsome young man.  Then the two of them had been involved in a lively and intimate conversation for half an hour or so.  Thranduil had stood to one side and glowered except that Thorin hadn’t noticed his expression until he finally parted company with the youth.

 

“Your long lost brother?” Thranduil had asked tartly as they continued on their way.  Thorin wondered at his manner but perhaps the elf had felt excluded and so he hastened to fill him in on the details in apologetic tones.

 

“The lad’s grandfather was one of the group of youngsters from Dale that some of us young dwarves used to hang out with before the dragon came,” he explained.  A wistful look came into his eyes.  “We had a lot of fun together - but he grew old and died, of course.  His grandson looks a lot like him - he was very handsome, you know.”

 

“As you are still,” said a tight-lipped elven king.  “I saw the way he was looking at you.  Is that how his grandfather used to look at you too?”

 

“What?” asked Thorin, in bewildered tones.

 

“Nothing,” snapped Thranduil.  And they walked the rest of the way back to Erebor in silence.

 

But Thranduil had returned obsessively to the subject once more when they were in bed with each other that night.  He had just finished with a sustained bout of love-making when he had brought the dwarf to climax after climax, withholding his own pleasure in order to maximise that of the dwarf…….  Almost as if he were trying to prove something, was the thought that drifted through Thorin’s mind just before he began to nod off to sleep.

 

But he was jerked wide awake again when Thranduil suddenly tweaked a nipple.

 

“Ow!” yelped Thorin.  “What was that for?”

 

“I was rather selfishly thinking about my own needs,” said a bad-tempered Thranduil.

 

“Oh, umm, yes,” muttered a guilty Thorin, opening his arms and pulling his lover to him. 

 

But, the elf was not satisfied.  “Well, it’s not much fun for me,” he said tetchily, “if I’m the only one who seems to be enjoying himself.”  And he stabbed his rock-hard arousal against Thorin’s limp and exhausted cock.

 

The dwarf grinned.  “Poor little thing,” he laughed.  “I think you gave it such a good time – for which I am truly grateful – that I doubt you’ll be seeing much activity from that quarter tonight.”  And, as the elf pouted, he added: “Will this do instead?”  And he thrust first one, then two thick and oiled fingers up inside his lover, searching for the magic spot. 

 

Thranduil gasped and writhed and, with a satisfied smirk, Thorin settled down to complete his task, nuzzling and nipping the long, white neck.  But, his attempts were not enough.  “It’s not the same,” the elf managed to gasp out petulantly, “if I can’t feel you pressing into my belly.  Can’t you think of something arousing?”

 

Thorin couldn’t help but let out an audible sigh.  He was struggling to stay awake and was doing his very best.  It was Thranduil’s fault for being far too effective.  The elven king had seemed strangely determined to win the prize for lover of the year that evening and Thorin’s multiple orgasms had wiped him out.  But, he showed willing and, shutting his eyes, he tried to think of all the most erotic moments he had ever spent in the elf’s bed.

 

“Nope,” he finally groaned at last.  “I’m all spent.  Now, tomorrow morning,” he continued optimistically, “it might be a different story.”

 

His fingers had stopped moving and Thranduil gave an irritated wriggle, reminding him to pick up the action again.  “Sorry,” he muttered, concentrating on the task.

 

But, the elf wouldn’t let things go.  “Well, perhaps you could fantasise about that young man we met today – or even his grandfather.”

 

Thorin was startled.  “What?” he said.  “Why on earth would I fantasise about them?”

 

“Oh, come on,” sneered Thranduil.  “I saw the way that you and that lad were looking at each other.  The image of his grandfather, you said.  And if you two had been standing any closer, you could have kissed each other.  Don’t tell me that nothing went on - no experiments – when you were all boys together, going into Dale and its red light district, or stripping off on a sunny day to  swim in the lake.”

 

Thorin blinked: “Well, actually, nothing _did_ go on.  We were all friends together, having a good time in a rather innocent way.  Ask Dwalin if you don’t believe me – he was one of the group, you know.”

 

“As if Dwalin would split on his king,” was the contemptuous response.  “Was he one of your lovers too?”  And he pushed himself hard against the fingers that had stilled once more.  “Keep going,” he snarled.  “You owe me at least this.”

 

But, Thorin removed his hand from between the elf’s thighs and snapped: “This is ridiculous.  Does your jealousy know no bounds?”

 

“I’m not the only one who has been jealous in this relationship,” Thranduil retorted angrily.  “What about the way you went chasing after my possible future lovers just before we got married?”

 

“And I learned a very hard lesson,” replied Thorin quietly.  “Just as I thought that you had learned a lesson after that time you became ridiculously jealous of Brangwyn and you – and you – forced yourself upon me.”

 

“Trust you to bring that one up,” the elf muttered furiously.  Then he seized Thorin’s wrist and pulled his fingers towards him again.  “I said, keep going,” he growled.

 

Thorin yanked his hand away.  “How very romantic,” he said contemptuously.  And he climbed from the bed.

 

“And where do you think you’re going?” yelled Thranduil, raising himself on one elbow and glaring up at him.  Dawn was just breaking and the dwarf’s body shimmered in the pale morning light.  He looked very beautiful and, in spite of his anger, Thranduil wanted him badly.

 

“Somewhere more civilised,” answered Thorin, flinging on his shirt and pulling on his breeches.

 

“Let me guess,” scowled the elf.  “Off to see your best friend, Dwalin?  I suppose he’ll have to do now that your dwarf woman is married.  Her whoring days are over, presumably.”  The spiteful, cruel words flowed like a river from him and he would regret them deeply later.  But Thorin’s hand shot out and choked the breath in his throat.

 

“Don’t you dare say such things about Brangwyn,” he hissed, “after everything she has done for us.  And Dwalin has been a stalwart friend for years longer than I have ever known you.”  And, with a disgusted snort, he released his hand from his lover’s neck.

 

And that was the problem, raged the elven king to himself, gasping and rubbing the bruises on his throat.  Dwalin had been in Thorin’s life three times longer than he had been himself.  Who knew what had passed between them?  They always seemed so close and their intimacy had once been, he was sure, more than brotherly.  And, for a moment, he imagined the great, gruff Dwalin heaving and grunting on top of Thorin’s body.  The pain and the fury afforded him by this vivid picture were too much to bear.

 

Thorin turned his back and marched from the room.  “Or are you off to Dale?” the elf managed to choke out.  “For an assignation with that young lad?” he shouted as Thorin flung open the door with a crash.  “You’re going to him, aren’t you?  I just know you are!”  Then he scrambled after him, pulling the sheet about his naked body.  “And if you think that you will be welcome back in my bed after _that_ , then you’ve got another think coming!”

 

.o00o.

 

Pt II

 

And I Want One Too!

 

Thorin was telling Balin and Brangwyn an expurgated version of the previous night and Balin was scribbling it all down on a sheet of parchment.  “You can’t get divorced just like that,” he had said wearily.  “You’ve got to have _grounds_.”  And so Thorin was giving him grounds.

 

“Now it’s your turn, Brangwyn,” the old dwarf said, passing a tired hand across his forehead as he finished jotting down Thorin’s words.

 

“I know that he loves me,” she said earnestly, “but he has always been very jealous and I just can’t stand it any more.”  Thorin gave her an understanding nod of his head.

 

“As soon as he came here to be Thorin’s adopted son,” she expanded, “he suspected me of being up to all sorts of things.  He was convinced that I was in some sort of sexual relationship with Thorin and, because he thought I was a woman of loose morals, he almost raped me at one time.”  Balin’s head shot up at this.  “But, Thorin was in time to save me.  Then, he not only thought I was sleeping with Thorin, he also imagined I was part of a threesome with Thranduil.”  Balin’s eyebrows rose even higher.  “I think that Thorin and I managed to convince him otherwise in the end; things settled down and he finally asked me to marry him.”

 

She sighed.  “I thought that all my wishes had come true because I had fallen in love with him almost right from the beginning.  The wedding was wonderful – “

 

“Mine too,” said Thorin sadly.

 

“And the wedding night was absolutely beautiful.”

 

Thorin nodded in agreement once more.

 

“But, as soon as the honeymoon was over and we returned to Erebor, he began to get suspicious again.”  She began to cry and Thorin offered a shoulder but she blew her nose and continued.

 

Young Thorin, Dain’s son, adopted heir and prince of Erebor, had fallen in love with Brangwyn, the beautiful dwarven woman who had come to the Mountain originally to be the older Thorin’s bride but who had finally remained to become the king’s confidante and close friend.  To Thorin and Brangwyn, it was simple: they were friends.  They got on well together, they made each other laugh, they understood each other and they helped each other out of deep, deep holes.  Neither Thorin’s relationship with Thranduil nor Brangwyn’s relationship with Young Thorin would have survived if it had not been for the support that they had given each other.

 

And now the two of them felt exhausted.  All that effort and for what?

 

“He doesn’t like to see me talking to any dwarf lord or any man from Dale or any of the elves in Thranduil’s retinue because he immediately suspects that something is going on between us.  And he still can’t let go of the idea that I’m secretly in love with Thorin.  We row about that on a regular basis and that’s what we rowed about last night.  It’s making me so miserable and I just don’t think I can live with him any more.”  She looked down at her nightgown.  “I walked out in the middle of a really bad argument this morning.  He was being so abusive that I don’t think I can go back.”   

 

Thorin put an arm about her and she took comfort in the warmth of his hug.

 

“I’m so sorry,” said Balin.  “Here you are – my four favourite people – and you no longer want to be with each other.”  He gave a deep sigh.  “Well, I shall need at least a few days to get the paperwork ready.”  (And, secretly, he was wondering if they would change their minds if he dragged things out long enough.)

 

The two thanked him and found themselves out in the corridor once more.  It was only then that they realised that, if they didn’t want to confront their partners, then they had nowhere to go.

 

“Well,” said Brangwyn suddenly.  “We could go to my old apartment.”

 

“And you have the key on you?” said Thorin with a wry smile as he looked at her nightie.

 

“No,” she laughed, “but the concierge of that floor knows me and will let me in.  I have some old clothes stored there too which will be very useful.”

 

They made their way to Brangwyn’s apartment and had no trouble gaining access.  The dwarf woman dug around in some cupboards and pulled out several bottles of wine.  “I think we could do with a few glasses of this,” she smiled.  And they sat down comfortably on the sofas and poured themselves a large glass each.  And then they poured another glass.

 

The two spent the rest of the day commiserating with each other, drinking and later eating, in rather a desultory way, the food that a servant brought to their room.  By the evening, they had got a bit giggly.  “Do you think they’re looking for us?” asked a tipsy Brangwyn.

 

Thorin gave serious consideration to this question in the way that drunks tend to do.  “Mm, not yet.  They’ll be pacing up and down in a filthy mood, expecting us to return this evening and be   conciliatory.”  (He had trouble with the pronunciation of  ‘conciliatory’.)  “They’re thinking of all the patronising things they will say to us when we do return – things that will make us feel really inadequate.  Then, when we have done a bit of grovelling, they will deign to forgive us.”

 

Brangwyn grinned widely: “I don’t think we should give them that opportunity, do you, Thorin?”

 

.o00o.

 

But, they were wrong.  Both Thranduil and Young Thorin had guiltily gone in search of their partners some time ago with an apology all ready on their lips.  They bumped into each other in the Great Hall where everyone had begun to sit down to dine.

 

“Er,” said Thranduil.  “Have you seen Thorin?”

 

“I was about to ask you if you had seen Brangwyn ,” was the young prince’s reply.  “Umm, she walked out on me this morning after a row.”

 

Thranduil shuffled his feet a bit.  “Thorin walked out on me too and now I just can’t find him.”

 

They decided to combine forces and they renewed their search, up and down the maze of corridors.

 

Finally, they came to Balin’s door.  “He might know,” thought Young Thorin, knocking loudly.

 

Balin opened the door, then rolled his eyes at them.  “Don’t tell me that you want divorces too?”

 

When they gave him a blank look, he gestured them inside.  They had to know some time, he thought.  And, perhaps they could talk their partners out of it.  And when he told them of Thorin and Brangwyn’s earlier visit and its purpose, the pair looked very shocked.

 

“I knew I had pushed him too far this time,” cried Thranduil.

 

“We must find them,” wailed Young Thorin, “and put things right.  My jealous suspicions of her and Thorin have always been entirely unfounded.  I know they are, but something always pushes me into a jealous argument.”

 

“Same here,” muttered the elven king.

 

The three of them discussed where the pair might be and they finally came up with Brangwyn’s old apartment.  It seemed like the ideal sanctuary.  And, within minutes, the king and the prince had set off at speed down the corridor.

 

When they found the apartment, the door was unlocked and they hurried in, both calling out their true love’s name.  They weren’t in the main room and so they dashed into the adjacent one where they stopped on the threshold in horror. 

 

Thorin and Brangwyn were lying on the bed, bleary-eyed and startled.  They were clasped in each other’s arms and both were entirely naked.

 

“I knew it,” said the prince calmly.

 

“Me too,” said Thranduil.  “I think we need Balin to get ready some paperwork for us as well, don’t you?”

 

And they both turned on their heel and made their exit from the apartment, desperately trying to hide the pain they felt at this unexpected discovery.

 

.o00o.

 

Pt III

 

Bed Games

 

Earlier that evening, a rather sozzled Thorin had flopped back on the sofa with an equally drunken Brangwyn tucked under his arm.  “Have you ever thought,” slurred the dwarf woman, “about the saying: _One might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb_?”

 

“Yes, I have,” replied Thorin with a studied concentration.  “I can’t tell you, in all modesty, how many elf lords have been after my body.  And Thranduil was on the right track over Dwalin: he’s always had very strong feelings for me, but I held him at arm’s length because of my obsession with chastity.  I was keeping myself pure for that special one but, the way things have turned out and after all the accusations I’ve had to take from that elf, I wish I had slept with Dwalin now – or that friend from Dale when we were all young together.  They were more deserving of my love.”

 

“He’s always been fixated on the relationship between you and me,” mused Brangwyn.  Then, after a long pause:  “Perhaps we should go ahead and do what we’ve been accused of doing all this time.” 

 

Thorin gave an amused smile.  “A suitable revenge, Brangwyn?”

 

She wrinkled her nose.  “Well, not completely.  An intimate cuddle would be comforting and I’ve always loved you, Thorin – as a friend.”

 

“I know,” he said gently.  “And I have always loved you – as a friend.  But,” he added, “perhaps we should give ourselves a chance to make it into something more.  I feel like a bit of comforting too.”

 

They struggled from the couch to the bedroom, supporting each other as they went.  Brangwyn still had on her nightie and it took only seconds for her to pull it over her head and for Thorin to slip off his breeches and shirt.  Neither of them suffered from false modesty and they studied each other curiously.

 

“He was always especially jealous of you, Thorin,” she smiled, “after seeing you naked that time.  Your attributes are enough to make any male jealous and he couldn’t understand why I preferred him to you, for all my reassurances.”

 

Thorin grinned back.  “It seems odd to be looking at a naked woman after sleeping with Thranduil all this time.  But, I must admit, you look very – cuddly.”

 

“Let’s cuddle, then,” she laughed and she flung back the coverlet and hopped into bed.

 

Thorin laughed gleefully and jumped in after her.  And then he drew her into his arms and they lay on the pillow facing each other.

 

They both felt the strangeness of it all.  To Brangwyn, Thorin somehow didn’t feel quite – right.  He was bigger, more heavily muscled and a bit hairier than her husband.  And for Thorin, after being in bed with the tall, lean and lithely muscled Thranduil, Brangwyn seemed very small, soft and squishy.  One of his hands moved down and squeezed a rounded buttock, whilst the other moved up to caress a full breast.  The softness of her was startling, the way his fingers sank into all that flesh.  It was not unattractive but it was definitely not what he was used to.

 

He bent forward and kissed her.  Of course, he had kissed her many times before, but never with tongues.  And, as he thrust his tongue tentatively into her mouth, she broke away from him, giggling.  “That just felt so funny, Thorin,” she laughed.  And there was one other thing that felt odd too: she was used to feeling her husband’s aroused member pushing urgently into her belly.  But, this time, there was no such sensation.  She felt curiously between Thorin’s legs, but his cock was limp and relaxed.

 

“Sorry,” he grinned, seeming neither sorry nor embarrassed but rather amused.  “Perhaps it’s all that wine.”

 

“Or,” was the laughing response, “perhaps we just don’t fancy each other.   I’m feeling pretty dry and unaroused too.”

 

They flopped back on the pillows and giggled rather drunkenly.  “I’m glad,” she said.

 

“So am I,” he replied, “if truth be told.  But I wouldn’t mind that cuddle.” And he clasped her in his arms and, very soon, they were fast asleep.

 

.o00o.

 

They were jerked awake by Thranduil and Young Thorin calling their names.  As they slowly opened their heavy lids, they were aghast to find their partners standing in shocked horror on the threshold, their eyes travelling up and down their naked bodies and fixing on what appeared to be a passionate embrace.  Before Thorin and Brangwyn could utter a single word, the two had turned on their heels and were gone.

 

Thorin clutched his aching head and groaned.  “Come on, Brangwyn,” he muttered.  “We’d better get after them and sort things out before they decide to take a similar form of revenge and jump into bed with each other.”

 

“Or, perhaps we should let things run their course,” she said, sitting on the edge of the mattress and clutching her own head in pain.  “If we want a divorce, isn’t this one way of going about things?”

 

Thorin paused to think for a moment and then looked sheepish.  “Perhaps I was just angry this morning.  Perhaps I don’t want a divorce after all.  How about you?”

 

Brangwyn gave a wry grin.  “No, perhaps I don’t want one either.  You’re right.  Let’s get after them.”  And she staggered to the wardrobe and pulled out some of her old clothes.

 

Five minutes later, they were out in the corridor once more.  “So, where have they gone?” asked Brangwyn.  “Your apartment?  My apartment?  Balin’s apartment?  Or some other place?”

 

“My apartment, I reckon,” decided Thorin.  “It’s the biggest and the nicest and Thranduil is likely to make the decisions.  They’ll be plotting and deciding on what to tell Balin and they’ll want to be comfortable whilst they do so.”

 

“And it’s got the biggest bed too, if they decide to screw each other,” sighed Brangwyn.   And they hurried off down the corridor once more.

 

This time, the servant with the tray was on the look out and saw them coming from a distance which meant he had time to stand well to one side when they flew past before he set off back down to the kitchens once more.  Don’t this lot ever eat, he thought?  You’d think they’d be hungry, what with all the running about that they do.

 

When the two got to the apartment, the door was locked for a change.  “I’m pretty confident they’re in there,” said Thorin.  “I think we’ll have to blag our way through this.  Are you ready?”  And when Brangwyn nodded, he drew out a key from his pocket, which meant that Thranduil and the prince were rather surprised when the dwarf king and Brangwyn entered the room.

 

The two had been sitting head to head at the table, exchanging indignant confidences.   “And, after you cast Thorin off that time,” the young prince was saying, “and Brangwyn came here as the proposed bride, people told me that they were like _this_.”  And he held up a hand with two fingers crossed.  “They apparently lived in each other’s pockets and were so close that the court was confident of a betrothal announcement any day.  But, Thorin went off to Mirkwood and came back with you instead.  However,” he continued, with an arrogant toss of his head at the inescapable logic of it all, “I am absolutely confident that they were intimate during that time.”

 

“So,” asked a fascinated Thranduil, “when you finally bedded her, she wasn’t a virgin?”

 

“Well, er, yes, she was.  But,” continued the prince, stumped only for a moment, “we all know, don’t we, that sex doesn’t necessarily involve vaginal penetration.”  And he nodded wisely to show his sophistication in these matters.  And Thranduil smiled sadly to himself as he remembered the truly wonderful non-vaginal penetration he had experienced with Thorin on a very regular basis. 

 

“This is true,” he said, more than ready to be convinced of his lover’s treachery.

 

And it was at this moment that the two self-same traitors had walked in.

 

Young Thorin rose to his feet in the utmost indignation.  “I don’t know how you two have the gall to come after us,” he said.

 

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Thorin, throwing himself down comfortably on a couch.  “Some of us were just born arrogant.”  Brangwyn giggled and plonked herself down next to him.

 

“I think it’s best if you two were to leave,” said Thranduil in icy tones.  “Have you no shame?”

 

“None whatsoever,” replied Thorin, “because I have nothing to be ashamed about.”

 

“Nothing to be…!” spluttered Young Thorin.  “Not when we caught the two of you in bed with each other?”

 

“What you saw,” said Thorin mildly, “was just a comforting cuddle between two friends.”

 

“No friends that I know of give each other hugs whilst stark naked and in bed together,” said Thranduil tartly.

 

“And, of course, you noticed my enormous erection,” was the dwarf’s retort.

 

And, indeed, Thranduil had.  Or rather, he hadn’t.  In fact, that was the first part of Thorin’s anatomy that his eyes had flown to and he had noticed his lack of arousal.

 

“You see,” continued Thorin as if explaining to a child, “we really _are_ just good friends who just don’t fancy each other.  And what more proof do you need?”

 

Thranduil rose to his feet.  “Well, I think that the prince and I have seen enough _proof_ of your betrayal today,” he said coldly.  “And since a further betrayal lies in you both filing for a divorce behind our backs, I think that Young Thorin and I need to file for divorces of our own.  Come, lad,” he said turning to the prince, “I believe we have business with Balin.”  And he swept elegantly from the room with the prince trotting obediently in his wake.

 

Brangwyn slumped back despondently against the cushions.  “We’ve blown it,” she sighed.

 

“Patience,” said Thorin calmly.  “I think they’re faking it.  They just want us to go running after them, full of apologies, so that they can be generous and forgive us.  They’ll come back if we don’t make an appearance.”

 

The dwarf king was right because Thranduil and Young Thorin were hiding just up the corridor and around the corner.  “They’re not coming yet,” said the prince anxiously, taking a peek.

 

“Give them a few more minutes to think about it,” replied the elf.  “Thorin owes me an apology: I’m certainly not going to apologise to _him_.”

 

And so, both sides waited….. And waited.

 

“I don’t think they’re coming,” said Brangwyn at last.  “Perhaps they _have_ gone to see Balin and perhaps we should go there too and tell them that we are withdrawing our divorce applications……We don’t have to apologise……just let them know that we want to stay married to them.”

 

Thorin didn’t answer.

 

“They’re not coming,” said Young Thorin, taking another peek.  “Perhaps we should return and tell them that we’ve changed our minds about the divorce……We don’t apologise, of course, even though we _did_ start the ball rolling with our jealous outbursts.”

 

Thranduil didn’t answer.

 

“All right,” said Thorin, a few minutes later.  “Let’s go and find them.  But, I refuse to apologise.”

 

“All right,” said Thranduil at last, “we’ll return and make them squirm.”

 

They met each other halfway down the corridor.  The prince and Brangwyn ran the last steps of the way and flung their arms around each other.  “I’m sorry!  I’m sorry!” they both gasped at the same time.

 

“My apologies, Thorin,” said Brangwyn over her shoulder, “but my husband and I need a long, private talk together.”  And with their arms wrapped tightly around each other, they hastened away.

 

Thorin and Thranduil faced each other silently in the corridor: no hugs, no apologies, just long, cold stares.

 “Well, I’m not standing here all day,” snapped Thranduil at last.  Then he gestured to the apartment: “Shall we go in?”

 

Thorin turned on his heel and led the procession back into his rooms.

 

More silence.

 

Finally, Thranduil: “Well, that must have been novel!”

 

“What?” said Thorin.

 

“Fucking a woman!”

 

“I wouldn’t know,” was the disdainful response, “never having fucked a woman.”

 

“Liar!” snarled Thranduil.  “I can see it in your eyes.”

 

“What can you see?” snapped Thorin, taking a step forward.

 

Thranduil also took a step forward and looked into the dwarf’s blue, endlessly blue, eyes.

 

“The lies are in your eyes and on your lips,” he growled.  Those beautiful lips, he thought.  Then he stretched out a hand and traced Thorin’s mouth with a delicate finger.  Then the hand stroked the silken beard, ran down the powerful neck and slipped inside the linen shirt.  Both elf and dwarf shut their eyes and groaned.

 

“Apologise,” murmured Thranduil.

 

“You first,” muttered the dwarf.

 

It was deadlock.

 

But the deadlock was broken when they could resist no more but grabbed simultaneously at each other, the one pulling the other into a passionate embrace.

 

“Now,” groaned Thorin.  “I need you now.”

 

“I’ve waited since last night,” gasped the elf, as they tumbled to the floor.

 

Clothes went flying everywhere and the only thing that could be heard for the next five minutes were desperate grunts and moans.  It was all over very quickly – they were both too needy.  But it was exquisitely intense and satisfying.

 

They fell apart with both trying to catch their breath.  “How many times do I let you fuck me before you apologise first?” asked Thorin.

 

Thranduil grinned and rolled back on top of him: “I’ll apologise a million times if it leads to more moments like that,” he said.  And he murmured a very sexy apology which caused Thorin’s prick to harden again in response. 

 

“I think you’ve found a very effective trigger,” laughed the dwarf.

 

“But, it’s not just a game,” whispered Thranduil, nibbling at Thorin’s ear and pulling the dwarf’s muscular thigh up around his hip.  “I really mean it.”

 

“I mean it too,” murmured Thorin, apologising in his turn.   And he gripped Thranduil’s backside and clutched him urgently as the elven king plunged into him once more.

 

.o00o.

 

Balin lay awake in his narrow cot and wondered how much longer his nerves would take the strain.  Brangwyn had popped in to tell him to forget all about the divorces because everything was hunky-dory again.  But, how much longer would it be before there was another crisis?  He had torn up all the parchment documents that he had worked so hard upon and had gone to bed early to dream about a nice quiet place where he could relax and grow old in peace – somewhere like the Halls of Khazad-dûm – the Mines of Moria.  It had been held by a diminishing number of Orcs for some time now, but if only he could lead a party to win that mighty dwarven kingdom back again, then he might find the peace he craved before he grew too old to enjoy it.  Oin would come, he thought, as his eyes fluttered close, and Ori…….yes, he’d like to write a book about it, Balin was sure…….  And, on these pleasant thoughts, Balin drifted off to sleep.

 

.o00o.  
  


 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
